Dear Diary
by Ariana Deralte
Summary: Tom Riddle's first diary entries, long before he gave the diary a life of its own.
1. Jealously

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his universe aren't mine. It belongs to Rowling.

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_            My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle, or Spawn of Satan, or Son of a Whore as the others at the orphanage call me. They have always been jealous of me. Jealous because I knew more about my family than any of them, though it was never enough for me. They were jealous for another reason as well. I also had an ability that in their ignorance the others termed magic._

_            It turned out to be the one time they were right. On my eleventh birthday, a letter arrived at the orphanage for me. I was receiving my own special birthday beating. They had learned that while I could stop them singly with my 'tricks', I did not have enough focus to stop a large group. _

_            I never dared show my tricks to Travis, the Head of the orphanage. He already had us slaving away in the factories, for cash he pocketed, six days a week. Who knew what the man would do if he thought I could do magic for him. _

_            Travis threw the letter at me, standing bloodied in the midst of some of the older boys who were administering their 'birthday punches'. How I'd wished they'd never found out the date of my entrance into this world. _

_            I was able to grasp the letter before Travis left. The boys closed in again once he was gone, but I closed my eyes and wished as hard as possible that they would leave me alone. I tasted blood, and realised I had bitten into my tongue. The boys were strangely silent and they have yet to bother, or even notice me since. This was my first taste of the power of blood magic. Even before I came here to Hogwarts, I obtained books on the subject and I will continued my education here in secret since some foolish wizards deem it Dark Arts._

_            If Travis had been able to read better, he would have understood just how odd the letter was. The strange lettering. The shimmering green ink. The obvious reference to witchcraft. _

_            I had to teach myself to read. I would steal old newspapers from the bins outside the factories and pour over them whenever possible. That was another reason the others were jealous of me. I always tried to improve myself, while they waited in the hopes that some rich idiots would come and pull them up from the squalor. _

_            When I was very young, I used to hope that my mother would come. I soon learnt she was dead with my only living relative being my filthy muggle father. A father who never came, and probably laughed at my desperate letters in their childish scrawl._

_            The year before I received my letter, I ran away from the orphanage. I ate sewage in the streets and only narrowly avoided the perverts, all to reach a large house in Little Hangleton. I pounded on the gate for hours, even saw my father drive up. He never looked at me, though the old lady in the car stared and stared before burying her face in a handkerchief. But I know what he looks like now, this man who made me an orphan. He will regret passing me by._

_            The rest of my introduction is simple. My Hogwarts letter had an additional note that described a vault keyed to me with money for my education. I spent frugally, with my only expense being the Dark Arts books I mentioned before. The rest I used to pay off Travis when the time came to leave. _

_            And so I came to another type of orphanage – Hogwarts. I was sorted into Slytherin and it is a proper house, no matter what those idiotic Gryffindors say. Despite their pure-blood upbringing, I know more of magic then my classmates. _

_            It is only my first week at Hogwarts. I lie on my bed, ignoring and being ignored in turn. That won't last for long. I won't have them treating me like they do at the orphanage. This time, I will lead the gang._

_            I keep finding my eyes drawn towards the serpent inscribed above our fireplace. I suppose it would sound silly to say that my destiny seems to lie with this symbol. But something is calling, no hissing at me. _

_I think I might continue with this diary, at least for a little while. Who knows what use I might find for it in the years to come?_

_                                                            Tom Marvolo Riddle_

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	2. Friendship

_I have always known I was different. I was 'special'. Child of a father who didn't want him. Child of a mother who wasn't loved. And I could do my little 'tricks'…_

_There was a boy younger than me at the orphanage. He was pathetic. A weakling who let the others intimidate him into submission. But he was being treated like I was. An outsider. And I thought perhaps that I might have a chance at friendship. After all, they hated us both. _

_One day I showed him one of my secret places. A place between the rotten walls of our dormitory and the one next to it. There with the rotting wood and peeling paint, I was safe. Looking back, I can see that he was frightened by my invitation and with good reason. I had made myself a terror to everyone who met me. It was a good survival method. If I didn't hurt them first, than they would hurt me._

_We entered my secret place and I was laughing inside, knowing that the older boys would never find us. He was clumsy though. Clumsy and a fool. One of the old nails inside the walls caught him, ripping open his arm. The blood stains are still within the walls even now. Little brown spots to complement the rust stains. He let out a scream and was bawling like a baby at the wound. _

_I couldn't have that. He would give us away. How had he gotten through so many years at the orphanage without learning its first rule? You didn't cry. You didn't bring attention to yourself. Everyone knew that potential parents wouldn't want children who cried. Or laughed. Or smiled._

_I put my hand over the wound and willed it to close, all the while telling the idiot boy to shut up in my fiercest whisper. He shut up when I removed my hand, and we both shared in shock at the faint scar that was still smeared with my bloody handprint. What an amazing trick. I sat there, considering my strange power in ways I had never thought of before. Just what could I really do? Was this the reason my father had abandoned me? Could I use this to my advantage? I didn't even notice when the fool slipped out of my secret place._

_I sat there, my face shadowed by the flicker of the small candle I had smuggled in there over a year before. I had lit it only for the boy, since I had long gotten used to the dark. I gradually became aware of the noise outside the walls. The boys had come back, but no matter. They didn't know I was there. I was safe. I was alone._

_But then I heard a voice, a voice I had heard crying in pain not long before. It told them where I was. Told them how to find me, and I felt my anger burst inside me, filling me up and washing outward. They grabbed my leg through the hole, pulling me out across the nails and the splinters of wood. I was bleeding before they even got to the rest of me. _

_My usual beating began, as the boys laughed at finding me in such a weak position. I took the punches, the kicks, the bites. I had eyes only for that foolish boy who had betrayed me. Betrayed me. Friendship was not an offer I made lightly. In fact, I have never offered it since. He would have been dead a thousand times over if my 'tricks' had fulfilled my wishes that night. _

_I set fire to his bed a month later. Nothing special. He wasn't even in it. It made me feel good though, as I watched his sheets go up in flames. Pity they got to it before it spread. I ran away shortly afterward, on my fruitless trip to see my thrice-cursed father. _

_The weakling died in a factory accident while I was gone. It happens often. A loose piece of clothing or hair gets caught in the machines. They don't stop them unless it will somehow endanger the product. It's why everyone at the orphanage makes sure their hair is cut short. Very short unless they want to have the machinery cut it for them. _

_Oh. But that doesn't happen anymore they say. Yes, and there are no dark wizards anymore. They all gave up and went back to raising puppies and butterflies._

_I had a fight here in my dorm today. There is still blood on the carpet, though I'm sure the house elves will clean it up. They're such handy little creatures, and they never ask questions. It's an attitude I like to encourage, and one that my so-called peers are learning. _

_I cannot learn fast enough, and what I learn doesn't seem to fill me. There has to be a way to change all this. A way to get out, but I don't see it. Perhaps I am pathetic and weak for even considering…_

_Enough.__ I am Tom Marvolo Riddle. Bastard child of Satan himself. Condemned to Hell. But I promise, that if I have to live in Hell, than at least I shall rule it._

_                                                            Tom Marvolo Riddle_


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